


Let The Memory Live Again

by Shadowolf19



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Canon Compliant, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Marvel 616 References, Memory Loss, Past Relationship(s), Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowolf19/pseuds/Shadowolf19
Summary: “JARVIS? Was I in a fight?” he asks, repeating the question once again when no reply comes. What the hell? What happened to his A.I.? He doesn’t care that much about himself – it’s not the first time he’s hangover and of course it’s not going to be the last – but JARVIS is vital to the functioning not only of his suit, but of the whole base too.





	Let The Memory Live Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Relay Challenge.
> 
> The fic is set in the present Earth-616 continuity and references events happened during Jonathan Hickman's run.

The morning alarm pierces through his ears and brain, making him painfully aware, even before he opens his eyes, that a huge headache is going to hit him as soon as he does, about fifteen seconds later, unable to ignore the incessant blip on the clock. _Gotta remember to pick up a song instead_ , he tells himself off as he blindly searches for the button to stop that infernal noise, and after he finds it, he slowly rolls out of bed, shuffling his feet along to reach the bathroom. Surely enough, the headache is there, and a quick look at his reflection in the mirror further reveals a few nasty bruises all over his face, one dangerously close to his right eye. _That’s just perfect,_ he moans as touching them lightly, noticing just now how his knuckles bear a redness that is not usually there.

“JARVIS? Was I in a fight?” he asks, repeating the question once again when no reply comes. _What the hell?_ What happened to his A.I.? He doesn’t care that much about himself – it’s not the first time he’s hangover and of course it’s not going to be the last – but JARVIS is _vital_ to the functioning not only of his suit, but of the whole base too. And it’s only now that he’s mentioned it to himself that Tony realizes something _else_ is off. This is _not_ the Tower, nor the Mansion, or any of the places the Avengers have been staying before. _Where am I?_ , he wonders as he brushes his teeth before quickly getting dressed, eyes attentively exploring his surroundings in search of clues that could reveal his whereabouts. But even as he makes his way downstairs – aided by some sort of ‘smart watch’ on his wrist that shows him where the meeting he _needs to attend_ is going to take place – his deductions and ideas stop at the general understanding that he is in some sort of high tech cave. As to where this is or why he’s here, exactly, he has nothing: no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to have any precise recollection of what he might have been doing yesterday, what might have led him to such strange a place or even what kind of meeting he’s about to take part in. He’s not even sure this is, in fact, Avengers business, or just his own – a prospective that he really doesn’t look forward to, because in his present state he definitely is as useless as a sipping straw in his whiskey. The weird watch on his wrist gives out a brief vibration as he reaches two big, blue doors, and when he looks down at the display, a red dot tells him he has reached his destination. Tony stares at it for a couple of seconds, fascinated albeit confused as to exactly how such a thing is even possible. _Aliens_ , he then realizes, and it’s the first thought that actually makes sense, although he really wishes it wouldn’t, because if it turns out to indeed be true… well, then things are bound to be complicated as hell. He shakes his head to himself, takes a deep breath and makes his entrance in the meeting room.

“Tony, good, you’re he— Woah, what happened to you?”

Okay, so, the good news is that this is, indeed, an Avengers gig, which honestly, is already making him feel much better, despite the slight oddness due to the fact that it appears T’Challa is the one _leading_ it, funny choice considering he’s been responsible for the last… _debatable_ decisions just as much as him. The bad news, if you can call it so, is that his bruises are not only visible, but _worth_ commenting on, apparently, although he can’t understand exactly _why_. Surely it’s not the first time he’s shown up at a meeting in a less-than-ideal physical form, right?

“Uh, I guess I was in a fight…” he replies before too long, waving a dismissive hand in the air and letting himself slouch on the nearest free chair. He throws a quick look around the table to see who else is in the room and is more than surprised to see Jen Walters in there, but even more so when his eyes land on Thor. “Woah, dude, what happened to your _hair_?!”

Thor frowns, looking more perplexed than him, and is about to reply when T’Challa precedes him, making it clear that he _really_ intends to know what caused Tony’s state: “What do you mean, you ‘guess’? You don’t _remember_?”

He shrugs lightly, shaking his head, actually perplexed as what the big deal is: “I don’t. Must have had a drink too many, I—“

“Wait a second, you’re _drinking_ again? When did this happen?” the other interrupts him, with a tone that he really doesn’t like. _Why is everyone acting so weird today?_ And really, who’s the Wakandan to judge? Tony is about to say all of this (and then some) out loud, but just a second before he does the doors open again and in comes Steve, the look of someone who just woke up from a restless sleep. Tony sinks more into his chair as seeing him, wondering who the hell thought it would be a smart idea to put the two of them in the same room together. _After all that has happened._

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I got lost on my way here, for some reason,” Steve apologizes, looking quickly around to spot a free chair, and even though Tony is _actively_ avoiding the other’s eyes, he can’t help but notice how the only seat available is right next to him. _This is a nightmare. It must be._

“It’s okay, Captain, we haven’t quite started yet,” T’Challa explains, his eyes briefly stopping on Tony’s to remind him that the previous conversation is far from over, although he’s going to glass over it for the time being. Which is fine, because right now Tony has Steve to deal with. Or, better, _not_ deal with. He figures they can just ignore each other during the meeting, and then he’ll talk to T’Challa to remind him how it’s really not _advisable_ for the two of them to be on a team together right now. Steve himself seems to be sharing the same thought, because he doesn’t give any sign of acknowledging his presence as he takes his seat right next to him. But if that’s more than okay with Tony, it seems to prompt some muttering and _lots_ of confused glances all around the table, and for the life of him he can’t understand the reason. What happened between them is basically public knowledge, so why is everyone acting like it’s something _new_?

Maybe catching up on the weirdness of the whole situation, T’Challa decides it’s a good idea to start the meeting, much to Tony’s relief; but it’s a feeling that doesn’t last very long, because the number one – and maybe only – point on the list regards Namor. Tony wants to disappear. _Not again_. He covers his face with a hand as to make himself invisible, knowing too well it _won’t_ work, but much to his surprise, the Wakandan King revolves his attention to Steve.

“So, Captain, now that you’ve slept on it… Do you _still_ think it’s a good idea to go talk to him on your own? As I said yesterday, I’m not entirely convinced he’s going to see reason this time…”

“Sorry, what?” Steve replies, confused and slightly altered, prompting Tony to shoot him a quick, interested glance that unfortunately the other catches, because he turns towards him before he can look away: “Why don’t _you_ go, Stark? Aren’t you guys best _pals_?”

He _knows_ he shouldn’t reply – Steve has every right to be angry with him, he _deserves_ it – but there’s something about his tone that really hits his nerves, so he sways on his chair to face him and smirks as answering: “What, are you _jealous,_ Rogers?”

“Of him? _Please_. He can have you. After what you did—“

“Oh my god, how many times do I have to—“

“See? You still don’t un—“

“Oookay, enough is enough!” T’Challa’s voice echoes in the room, powerful and hard, making them both shut up all at once. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on with you two today, but I don’t want to hear it. Solve whatever problem happened last night _and then_ come back to me. We’ll manage without you today.”

Tony has never been gladder to hear these words: as soon as they’re pronounced, he pushes the chair backwards and takes his leave, reaching the corridor with a few, fast steps. Once outside, he takes a deep breath of relief, but again he comes to regret it in just a few moments, because as he’s making his way back to his room, Steve reaches for him, hand tightening on his shoulder to get him to stop.

“What do you want?” Tony grumbles without turning – he’d recognize that hold, that _hand,_ blindfolded.

“T’Challa said you drank last night? I personally don’t know why he looked so _concerned_ , I told you _millions_ of times to—“

“Yeah, well, you also said you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, so kindly fuck off, alright?”

He tries to shrug the other’s hand off but _of course_ that doesn’t work: he could never match Steve’s strength, no matter what. An even if he’s well aware of this, he can’t help but getting even more pissed at him.

“I thought we agreed that you’d leave the Avengers for a while, Stark. Why are you _here_?”

“Honestly? I don’t have a clue!” he replies in all honestly, finally turning to face Steve, grabbing the hand that’s keeping him in place by the wrist and pushing it away. “Now if you don’t _mind_ …”

“I actually _do_ ,” the other barks back, tightening the grip on his shoulder so much that it actually _hurts_ now, and although it’s nothing unbearable, the gesture alone is enough to enrage Tony more than he frankly has the right to.

“Get your hands off me!” he yells, shoving Steve with all the strength he can muster, managing to make him stumble back of a couple of steps. But he has no time to enjoy his little victory because before he even realizes it, a punch lands on the left side of his face, sending him against the wall first and then, as his head hits the hard surface, on the floor, where everything turns suddenly pitch black.

***

When he finally comes around, a solid hour has gone by, but his headache gently reminds him of its presence the moment he opens his eyes, thus realizing he’s in the sick bay of their new base. He groans lowly, sitting up for a couple of seconds before carefully throwing his legs off the bed to stand up, and of course the room starts immediately spinning around him, so fast that he has to stretch a hand to the wall in order to steady himself and not fall on the floor. He does a brief scan of his surroundings, soon gathering that he’s the only one here, a realization that is accompanied by the dreadful feeling of his stomach turning upside down. His first coherent thought goes to Steve, as usual, and it doesn’t take long before images of the past night come up in his mind: the youth homeless shelter, the workshop about self-defense, and then the dark alley, the drug courier trying to recruit kids, Tony spotting him and phoning the police, only at that point other three or four thugs seemed to appear out of nowhere, managing to catch him off guard. He had tried to keep them at bay but they seemed to be _so strong_ and he kept receiving blow after blow, so when Steve finally appeared, he only managed to lock eyes with him for a couple of seconds before he lost his senses.

“Steve…” he mumbles now, his voice betraying a sting of panic he really doesn’t like as he heads out of the infirmary and stumbles towards the other’s room as fast as he can. Because although Steve is probably fine, those guys seemed to have some super powers of their own, and Tony hates that he went k.o. so _easily_ , leaving the other to fend for himself. Leaning against the walls, almost falling a couple of times, he manages to reach his destination in just short of five minutes, and, slightly out of breath, he knocks feebly on the door, hoping the other is indeed in – and all in one piece. But sixty seconds go by, and nothing happens. As a slight note of panic spreads into his chest, Tony gives another knock, trying to put more force into it, and this time he hears the other’s voice, much to his relief.

“Just one moment…” Steve replies from inside, opening up a few seconds later, with wet, messy hair and a bathrobe on. He frowns and sighs deeply as seeing Tony, who in returns blinks, puzzled – albeit relieved – to see the other not bearing anything more than a few, almost unnoticeable, scratches on his face.

“S-Steve! Thank god you’re okay…” he smiles slightly, because there’s something about the other’s demeanor and rigidity that doesn’t sit right with Tony: he’s opened the door, yes, but the moment he saw it was him he leaned his free hand against the wall, as to reduce space to avoid Tony’s slipping inside the room. Which, of course, is _exactly_ what he does now, bowing slightly to pass underneath his arm.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember inviting you in, nor giving you permission to use my first name _again_ , so if you don’t mind…”

“Yeah, as if I needed a—“ he starts, reaching for the bed, but he stops halfway when he’s hit by a sudden thought: “… oh. _Oh._ Um… Well, who would have thought… never mind. Steve, look, I know what you’re doing, but I’m really not in the mood for roleplay right now. My head is _killing_ me, that was a hard beating I got last night… Thank god you came out when you did or—“

“Roleplay? What the hell are you talking about? _I_ am the one who hit you, just over an hour ago. And if you came here looking for an _apology_ , well I’m sorry to say you ain’t getting it. Now, if you don’t mind…” Steve then adds, gesturing towards the door, still open.

 _Wait, what?_ This doesn’t make any sense, and if it wasn’t for the dead-ass serious look on the other’s face and his hardened eyes, Tony would think he was trying to fool him. So although deep down he _knows_ the truth, he waits a few more seconds to give him the chance of coming clear. When that doesn’t happen, Tony reluctantly stands up again – the headache as piercing as ever – and reduces the distance between them, leaning a hand on the door both to close it and to steady himself. Something in the way he does this must seem particularly desperate to Steve, because this time he doesn’t put up a fight about it nor tries to get Tony out of his room.

“Hey, listen to me. We got into a fight last night, while we were at the shelter. I went out to check something on my phone – the signal is atrocious in there – and then I saw these guys trying to sell drugs to a kid, so I tried to stop them, but… well, I’m quite sure they were Inhumans – or maybe Skrulls, I don’t know – because their punches…” he shakes his head to himself and takes a breath, mostly because he’s been talking like in apnea and now he’s slightly panting. He looks at Steve, hoping his rambling made it clear he isn’t _kidding_ , but all he gets in return is arms crossed over his chest, his glance immutable.

“I have no recollection of this, Stark. Plus, T’Challa told me that you said in the meeting earlier you drank too much last night, so for all I know, you could be making this up, maybe to get me to forgive you or god knows what/ Hell, wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“Steve, wh—“

“Stop using my name! You lost that privilege when you decided to _lie_ to me!” Steve barks at him, his voice so loud that Tony can feel a pang of pain right to his temple.

It’s clear now that something has indeed happened _after_ he lost consciousness last night, and if what Steve is saying is true, then they’ve both been affected, although he doesn’t understand why whatever it was is over for him now. Maybe they were injected with something, and it’s a matter of time before the effects wear off? But if that’s the case, then how much longer did Steve have to fight on his own?

And then, just as he’s thinking this, an idea suddenly pops up into his brain.

“Wait, you said you hit me?”

“Okay, I’ve had enough now, out of my r—“

But before he can finish his sentence, Tony does the only thing that could get Steve to come around, or at least so he hopes, because he _really_ doesn’t want to get punched senseless for the third time in less than twenty-four hours: he cups his face and presses his lips against Steve’s, closing his eyes as sucking softly on his bottom lip, just the way he knows the other loves. He stays still for a whole minute, and when he finally leans back, short of breath, he immediately searches for Steve’s eyes, to spot the recognition of their connection.

“W-What was that for?” the other asks, his glance indecipherable.

“Steve, _please_ …” he begs him with his hands still around his face, feeling really at loss right now, and because he doesn’t know what else could work, he kisses him again.

Only this time, something is different. He can feel Steve smile first, and then fight against a giggle that nevertheless ends up escaping his lips. Tony frowns, confused, but after just a couple of seconds realizes what’s going on.

“You jerk…” he mutters, leaning a closed fist on his wet chest to softly pushing him away, narrowing his eyes at him. “How long have you been… back?”

“Only a few moments, the first time did it. You know that I can’t resist you when you kiss me like that…”

“Yeah, well, I was getting _desperate_ ,” he admits, about to give him another taste, but then he stops on his lips and frowns, tilting his head to fully look at the other: “You _punched_ me.”

“In my defense—“

“Uh-uh. You _owe_ me now,” he interrupts, smirking gently and pulling Steve’s bottom lip softly with his teeth.

“Sounds promising…” comes the reply, along with hands sliding on Tony’s bum, possessively.

“Uh, tempting, but I mean it. Let’s get out of here.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“The Jazz Café in the Village?”

“You’re on.”

“Good. And now I’d like my advance, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies, pressing his body gently against the door as kissing him with a passion that speaks more than a mere apology. And Tony smiles on his lips as tilting his head back so that the other can have his way up and down his neck, sending shivers down his spine and stealing gentle moans that soon enough fill the whole room.

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the work before mine [this panel](https://readcomicsonline.ru/uploads/manga/avengers-2018/chapters/11/05.jpg) from Avengers #701 immediately came up in my mind and I knew I _had to_ use it (we don't get much SteveTony content nowadays sigh). Also, I'm a huge sucker for the Hickmanverse and I often reference it in a way or another - this assignment gave me the chance to do both. I don't want to spoil too much in case you want to read it (and I strongly recommend you _do_ , because it's amazing and worth your time), but what Steve is referencing when he's angry is the decision Tony took of wiping Steve's memory off at one point during the run. 
> 
> The new Avengers base is located inside the head of a fallen Celestial and you can find some visual references in the #8 issue of the current Avengers run (or [here](https://readcomicsonline.ru/uploads/manga/avengers-2018/chapters/8/16.jpg) if you want a quick glance).
> 
> The title comes from the song Memory from the musical Cats, and you can hear it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWoQW-b6Ph8) sung by Barbara Streisand.


End file.
